


Lost

by obimanletkenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fisting, Force Sex (Star Wars), Fuck Or Die, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obimanletkenobi/pseuds/obimanletkenobi
Summary: She presses her face into his neck, mumbling something incomprehensible against his skin, but the desperation and need bleeding off her is obvious now.“What?” he asks, as gently as he can, trying to keep calm despite how unbalanced this all makes him feel.“I think they drugged me,” she says, very slowly, like she’s trying not to slur her words.“Yes, it certainly seems that way. How do you feel?”“Alone. Open. Weak,” she stutters out, frustration at her inability to be more precise, and the effort she’s putting into sounding inteligible obvious in her tone. “I don’t know, it’s like I'm being pulled apart at the seams.”Obi-Wan is sent to rescue Padme from a mission gone wrong. It turns out she’s been drugged and the only way to help her is some good old, attachment-free Jedi sex.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is about as consensual as fuck or die gets, but Padme is mostly non-verbal throughout. They communicate via Obi-Wan reading her mind.
> 
> It takes place a year or two before aotc.

Obi-Wan gets attacked the moment he steps foot on this awful planet. He’s been sent to rescue senator Amidala alone, the mission deemed too dangerous for a padawan, and especially too sensitive for a padawan like Anakin. It's her first year in the senate and she’d been called to a planet with loose ties to the Republic, and an ancient, almost forgotten feud with Naboo. It was already suspicious that they’d requested her in specific, and refused to allow her to take Jedi protection, so the council had been monitoring her progress closely and when all communications stopped without warning a day ago he’d been ready to go.

Thankfully the planet has been isolated from the galaxy for so long that their weapons are primitive, and he fights his way through a palace, the force guiding him towards where he hopes he’ll find her, even as strange and unsettled as it feels here. 

Her presence is so strong that each time he turns a corner he expects her to be right there, and by the time he finds her at the very top of the highest tower, it feels overwhelming. She’s chained to what looks like an altar, half-conscious and completely naked, skin shining with old sweat.

The guards try to launch into a long explanation of their plan to sacrifice her to some ancient deity, while trying to fight him off at the same time, but he doesn’t let them finish. She feels so strange, unfocused in the force, nothing like her usual steadfast presence, more like she’s on the verge of slipping into some dark oblivion, and he doesn’t want to wait to see that happen. 

It gets clearer when he cuts her chains and wraps her in his robe, and she almost falls, unable to stand on her own. He picks her up and he’s carrying her down the winding stairs when she finally seems to regain some control, wraps her hands around him from where they’d been hanging limp at her sides.

She presses her face into his neck, mumbling something incomprehensible against his skin, but the desperation and need bleeding off her is obvious now. 

“What?” he asks, as gently as he can, trying to keep calm despite how unbalanced this all makes him feel. 

“I think they drugged me,” she says, very slowly, like she’s trying not to slur her words. 

“Yes, it certainly seems that way. How do you feel?” 

“Alone. Open. Weak,” she stutters out, frustration at her inability to be more precise, and the effort she’s putting into sounding inteligible obvious in her tone. “I don’t know, it’s like I'm being pulled apart at the seams.” 

She falls asleep after that, her limbs jerking erratically in his arms. She doesn’t even wake up when he throws her over his shoulder to free up his saber hand when more guards get in his way. 

He lays her down on a bed once they’re back on the ship. He doesn’t want to leave her alone like this but he could see people running towards the gun towers, and they start shooting as he takes off. He manages to avoid them without much trouble, the guns old and rarely used, not a match for his ship. He plots the jump to hyperspace and he’s just about to go back and check on her when he feels cold and clammy fingers tangle in his hair. He turns, surprised he didn’t feel her approach, but with how large she seems in the force compared to what he remembers from the few times they met it’s no wonder he can’t judge the distance accurately.

She still looks like she might fall over at any second so he sits her down in the co pilot seat, takes a blood sample and runs a full toxicology scan, fumbling with one hand because of the tight grip she has on his other. He tells her he's going to get her some water and she reluctantly lets go, grabs it again once he’s back, steadily drinking. He rubs his thumb absentmindedly along her fingers as he waits for the results and the quiet whimper she lets out gives him a horrible suspicion that’s only confirmed when the scan shows up on the screen. It’s an aphrodisiac, or rather a mixture of many different ones from all over the outer rim. The readout tells him it’s been outlawed for centuries for its potentially deadly effect on some species, including humans. It makes non force-sensitives more open to wielders, more vulnerable, making their midichlorians active, but still too sparse to give them any control of the force or themselves in it. That explains why he could feel her so strongly. It’s also why it was used in ritual killings. 

The cold water seems to have cleared her mind a bit, and she asks.

“Is it dangerous?” The syllables blur into each other despite the obvious effort she’s making to enunciate them clearly 

“It could be,” he sighs, “it’s an aphrodisiac, and not… fulfilling its purpose can be deadly.” 

He feels how her mind snaps when she realises what’s happening, finally recognizing the aimless need she feels as arousal. Still, she nods in understanding. Supposedly the substance keeps one conscious while relaxing the body almost to the point of inertia and sharpening the senses. It keeps the victim completely aware of what’s happening while completely harmless, their life force ripe and ready to be fed on by spiritual entities. It makes him shudder to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t found her in time. The very idea of such a horrible use of the force makes him furious, and he pushes his anger away. She’s safe now, or will be, and he needs to focus on that. 

She gets up to get closer to the screen and read it, or at least tries to, legs shaking from the effort. He steadies her by the elbow and she leans on the console with her other hand. Still, she sways dangerously on her feet and he’s considering putting his hands on her hips to support her, when her knees give out and she drops down to sit in his lap. He thinks for a moment that the substance is affecting her mind after all, that this is about to go the way of cheap erotica, or rather how he imagines those go, with her throwing herself at him, but she just perches on the very edge of his knee. Her hips are unnaturally still, like she’s consciously trying to avoid seeking any pressure between her legs, but her hand finds his again, tangling their fingers together. She leans close to the screen to see it better through her widened pupils and hooded eyelids.

He can feel her emotions as she works her way through the text, a bit of fear quickly replaced by shame and the slightest bit of an exasperated sort of amusement. She leans her arm on the console and her head in her hand when she’s read the whole thing and thinks for a moment before asking, again in that measured yet slurred tone. 

“Will you help me?” 

He’d expected fear and regret, maybe wandering hands, but not a polite, thought out question. It makes him reconsider refusing. He shouldn’t do this, the whole thing seems at odds with his worldview, at least on the surface, his entire philosophy screaming against taking advantage of someone in such a vulnerable state. But she is in her right mind, at least in theory, and she is asking, and the journey to Coruscant will take at least a day, which might be a bit late to get her to a medic and a proper antidote, depending on when she was given the drug. 

“Let’s get you some more water first,” he says, to buy himself more time. 

She nods and he helps her stand up, leads her to the kitchen. Her bare feet tangle in the hem of his robe, and he realises that no matter what happens she’ll get off this ship wearing his spare set of clothes, which makes him feel a certain way that he’s not really willing to get hung up on right now.

He refills her glass and sits down next to her, so he can look in her eyes.

“I need to know you’re sure. I know it’s difficult to talk, but i can look into your thoughts and you can answer me that way,” he says, once she’s taken a long sip.

She nods, and he puts his fingers on her temples, wading deeper into her mind. He moves past a fair amount of shame, and the lust she’s obviously trying to ignore so she can think clearly. He doesn’t ask if she understands what’s happening, he can see snippets of the readout scrolling through her mind as she tries to make sense of them.

“How did it happen?” he asks, and in response she focuses on a memory, bringing up blurred images of a banquet, a goblet of too-sweet wine, a sunset in the background. 

“Yesterday?” He clarifies.

She nods. That’s not good. It was late afternoon by the time he got to her, the poison’s already been in her body too long. 

“Does it hurt?” 

She shakes her head and focuses on the feel of his hand on her face, so strongly he can almost feel his fingertips tingling, where they’re pressed against her skin. 

“Not when I'm touching you?”

Another nod.

“What about when I’m not?” 

Her eyes turn frantic at that, her hand coming up to wrap weakly around his wrist, keeping his hand on her face.

“Don’t worry, I won’t stop. Just show me.”

She relaxes at the reassurance and thinks back to when she’d been chained to the altar, the memories chaotic, glazed over by the strange incense and eerie chants of the guards around her. He sees how flayed open she’d felt, how completely alone. She might not be able to sense the force, but she did feel her very essence unraveling, spinning out far outside her body. He feels how she clings to his touch desperately, like it’s the only thing grounding her in reality, so making her deal with this alone won’t help. It doesn’t look like they have many other choices left. If she were another Jedi, maybe he could guide her in meditation, help her release the overpowering emotions into the force, purge the toxins out, but she’s not. That’s the point, the substance wouldn’t work on a Jedi in the first place. Still, he has to give her another option.

“We could try to alter our course. Naboo is a bit closer than Coruscant.” It would only buy them a few hours, and the desperation he feels in her doesn’t make him confident in cutting it this close, but he needs to ask. “It doesn’t have to be me.”

She focuses her eyes back on him then, and shows him the very concept of trust, deep and unwavering trust in him, and some flicker of squashed down want hidden behind it, sparkling like candy on his tongue. He pulls on it curiously, and finds himself holding his own padawan braid, an old memory of himself on Naboo and butterflies in her stomach.

“You were fourteen!” He exclaims, scandalised, and doesn’t need to read her mind to understand the _I’m not anymore_ written plainly on her face. That’s true, she’s undeniably an adult now, and a quite beautiful one at that. He’s never thought of her that way before, and he’s not about to start now, because this isn’t about him. He’s a Jedi, helping someone in need, not some creep trying to take advantage of a drugged young woman. Moreover, because he’s a Jedi, she has some way of communicating, and the idea of leaving her in the hands of someone who couldn’t, or wouldn’t try to ask her what she needs makes his skin crawl.

“Obi-Wan, please,” she says, and he finally makes up his mind. 

“Alright. Come here,” he says, before gathering her up in his arms again and carrying her out of the kitchen. No point forcing her to walk, when he’s about to touch her a lot more. He lays her gently on the bed, his robe splaying around her, revealing her body once again. He doesn’t stare, but tries not to avert his eyes too obviously either. She whimpers gently when he lets go of her, and he sends her an apologetic look, before taking off his boots as fast as he can and kneeling next to her on the bed, taking her hand once again. She relaxes at the touch, and he takes a moment to appreciate the fact he took one of the order’s fancier ships, the ones reserved for escorting royalty and politicians. He can’t imagine trying to do this on a narrow cot would make things easier. There’s no point delaying any further, especially when the desperation is clear in her eyes, and he runs his knuckles gently between her breasts, before rubbing his thumb across her nipple. She groans in frustration and grabs his hand, muscles shaking with effort as she pushes it down to where she actually needs him. Well then. He finally looks down and has to take a deep breath when he sees how wet she is, slick glinting halfway down her thighs, a dark spot blooming on his robe between her spread legs. He takes a moment to slip her arms out of the sleeves, lifts her to slide it out from under her body. It won’t be wearable any time soon anyway, but the soft sheets should be more comfortable than the rough wool. 

She smiles gratefully, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, where her curls are going frizzy with sweat along her hairline. She grabs his hand then, and keeps it there, pressed against her forehead, thinks _hurry up_ at him so loudly she might as well be shouting. He chuckles and finally drags his other hand down her body, sliding his fingers between her folds. He presses one inside her, immediately adds another when she requests it, starts thrusting slowly. He puts his thumb on her clit, but she’s too wet for any kind of finesse, and the pointless sliding just makes her frustrated. He presses down firmly then, squeezing it against the bone underneath, rubbing in tight circles. He hooks his fingers, and she comes almost immediately, with a sharp breath, her walls fluttering weakly. That doesn’t surprise him, if she’s really been drugged and on edge for a full day now.

He thinks for a moment that it's done, that he can send her to take a sonic and pretend this never happened for the rest of the journey, but she locks her thighs down on his hand when he tries to withdraw it, _more_ ringing out clearly in her thoughts. He adds a third finger obediently, moving gently so as to not overstimulate her. He realises he’s not actually sure what curing her will entail. The effects of the drug don’t seem to be fading, but at least they’re not getting stronger anymore, although her breathing is getting shaky, a flush spreading on her face, the lust in her mind more urgent and obvious now that she’s letting herself feel it. Her control is impressive with how long she managed to hold it off before, making it seem like a mild annoyance, where now it spreads through her entire presence in the force, making it harder to keep himself detached and unaffected. _Faster,_ she thinks, along with a sour twinge of embarrassment, and he speeds up, setting a frantic rhythm.

The contrast of seeing her laid out underneath him, helpless and pliant, while feeling her swirling pleasure and the sharp, specific requests, the fact that she trusts him enough to let go so completely, lead him firmly where she wants him is driving him a little bit insane. She’s so open in the force, projecting everything without control, so that deep in the part of him he’s desperately trying to lock away and ignore, he can feel the drag of his fingers inside her as if it’s his own body he’s pressing them into. 

She’s close again, her pleasure rising, pulling tight inside her body and his mind, teetering on the edge, but unable to fall, and he slips the tip of his pinky inside her, pushing her that last bit she needed to come. This time he feels her clench down stronger on the aftershocks, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the stretch, or if she’s getting back some control of her muscles, until she draws up one knee, planting her foot on the bed so she can bear down, get his fingers deeper inside her. That’s reassuring, it means it’s working, at least somewhat, although the insistent press of _more_ against his mind isn’t fading. He starts moving again, slowly, going the slightest bit deeper each time, despite how insistently she’s pushing her hips down, trying to fuck herself on his hand, her soul pressing against his in the Force with that same chaotic rythm. He doesn’t want to hurt her, and no matter how loose and relaxed the drug is making her, how not even the smallest discomfort shows in her thoughts, she’ll definitely be sore tomorrow. Despite his best efforts to slow her down it doesn’t take long until he’s got most of his palm inside her, thumb pressed flat between her folds, rubbing gently against her clit. He curls his fingers in a smooth rocking motion that she follows with her hips, choked whimpers escaping her lips on every other breath. He feels her pleasure rise again, like high tide climbing further up the shore with every wave. This time when she comes it's not that dramatic crash again, just another soft wave flowing over them both, a held breath, a snap of her hips. Surely that must have done it, but no, there it is again.

“More,” she whispers, out loud this time, and he lets out a quiet laugh.

“There isn’t much more I can give you, Padme,” he answers, but she closes her eyes and sends him an image of his hand, curled up into a fist and it’s so detailed he digs further and oh. She was watching him, staring at his hands when he drew her blood for the test, when he gave her the water, when she’d clung to his hand so desperately earlier, when she was still ignoring her arousal some part of her already imagined his fingers pushing inside her. He clenches his teeth to muffle the low groan threatening to escape him at that, and there’s really not much to do but oblige her, when she’s asking so nicely. Besides, his control is slipping, and he’s way past lying to himself, pretending he isn’t just as desperate to see this beautiful creature split open on his entire fist and begging for more. 

The thought makes him want to step back, to find some excuse to delay this so he can pull himself together, but there’s nothing else to do. The ship is holding course. He could pretend to look for lube in the medkit, but there’s absolutely no need with how much she’s dripping. When she sees him hesitate she reaches down to wrap her fingers around his wrist, holding him close, and they slip in her own slick, smeared halfway up his forearm, only proving the point. So he just pulls out slightly, tucks his thumb in and pushes in at a glacial pace, twisting his wrist. Her mouth splits open in a silent scream, and he’s transfixed, eyes snapping back and forth from where his hand is steadily disappearing inside her, to her face, half covered with his sweaty palm, feeding him the feeling of every glorious inch of stretch through the Force. And then he’s past the widest part of his hand and the rest slips in quickly, fingers curling into a fist almost automatically, and for a moment they stay like that, frozen, breathing in time. 

He starts to move before she even has to ask, rocking back and forth in the most minuscule movement, that he still feels reverberated throughout her entire body. He twists his hand, pressing his knuckles up, and her eyes roll back in her head. She starts moving against him again, guiding him with her body now, her mind an incoherent mess of _full_ and _good_ and still, inexplicably, _more._ He doesn’t speed up, there’s really no space for that, but he puts more force into his thrusts, a deep grinding motion that drives her even more insane. He watches her stretch wider every time he pulls back, then hug his wrist just as tight when he pushes back in. He feels a strange sort of calm wash over her, lost as she is in the push and pull, like she could stay like this forever, pressure building and building with nowhere to go. They don’t have forever, though, and she knows that too, the desperation coming back into her movements, her hips jerking, looking for something else. 

She can’t come like this, he realises suddenly, despite her mind singing _perfect_ right into his ear. He wants to put his other hand on her clit, but she holds onto it tightly with the strength she’s slowly gaining back, keeps it pressed to her forehead, turning her face to pant, hot and wet against his palm, his thumb slipping on her lips. She takes it into her mouth, swirls her tongue around it, the slightest press of teeth keeping it there. He’s not sure if it was instinct, or want, or another instruction, but he decides to take it as such, folding his body in half to put his mouth on her. The change in position makes his cock press against her calf, where he’s straddling her leg (and when did that happen? He must have moved closer to get a better angle at some point). He’s almost painfully hard, he realises now, and of course he is, how could he not be. He allows himself one deep, stolen grind of his hips to take the edge off, then gets back to the task at hand, sucking on her clit, flicking his tongue, pressing up with his fist again until she clenches around his wrist (his karking wrist), and shatters, filling his mind with blinding shards of light, causing them both to lose the plot. 

When he comes back into his own body, from the strange place she took him, where they were both inside each other, and everything was delicious pressure, he’s leaning his head on her stomach, his hand is cramping up, and she’s pressing her shin up between his legs, making his hips jump to meet her against his will. This isn’t about him, he reminds himself. She may be gaining back control of her body, but that thick blanket of lust is still there, and she still feels wild and unmoored in the force. He pulls his hips back, but her leg follows, a playful smile on her lips. She looks straight into his eyes, and sends the most coherent image in a while, her clear intent to repay the favor when this is over, with her lips around his cock, the immaterial image punctuated by a very real suck on his thumb, that's still deep in her mouth, just like his whole hand is still buried inside her. Another image, this time of him pressing inside her, their breath dancing on each other’s lips, the phrase _two birds, one stone_ floating somewhere in the background. He closes his eyes, presses his face back into her skin, the smell of her arousal not helping him concentrate at all. But why shouldn’t he? She’s asking for it, she clearly wants it, and Force knows he wants it too. There’s no risk of attachment, he barely even knows her. Denying this would be ridiculous, leaving her after however long it takes to fuck this poison out of her, pretending he isn’t going to spill in his own hand (the same hand currently going pruney deep inside her) as soon as he’s out of sight. She bites his thumb impatiently, and he catches the thin skin of her hip between his teeth in return. He feels her squeeze down on his fist at that, and he straightens with a smile. 

“You’re sure about this?” He asks, and she drags her lips off his thumb before replying.

“Yes.” Her voice is rough, but the drunken drawl from before is gone, and it helps dissipate any doubt left in his mind. He takes his hand off her face, and she lets him go reluctantly. His mind is a bit clearer now that he doesn’t have her every thought trying to crawl inside it, but it doesn’t change anything. He puts his free hand on her stomach, leverage to slowly pull the other out, and she winces when the widest part stretches her open. That’s good, he thinks, pressing an apologetic kiss on the inside of her raised knee. It’s not good that she hurts, but it is comforting that she feels it normally now, that extreme relaxation fading from her muscles. He wipes his hand on the bedding, it won’t make much of a difference compared to the wet spot under her. She must feel that too now, and moves further up the bed with a grimace. She looks disappointed, almost terrified when he gets up, but he tells her he’ll be right back. He almost runs to find the medkit, blaming his haste on her desperation, that he feels even out of the room, and not his own eagerness. He opens it and thankfully finds condoms. Sleeping with the politicians they’re assigned to protect might not be encouraged by the order, but it’s universally understood that it’s better than getting them pregnant.

When he comes back, she’s splayed on the bed, limbs boneless except for the hand pressed between her legs, moving slowly. She doesn’t stop when she sees him, fixes her eyes on him as he undresses layer by layer, throwing clothes on the floor, her hungry stare making him hurry. 

He climbs over her, arranging her legs around himself when she doesn’t move them, and doesn’t waste any more time before finally pressing in, looking right into her eyes. She’s as prepared as she can be, more even, the weak, slippery flutter of her walls around him only proving it. The pressure and heat is overwhelming, after so long feeling every second of her arousal and ignoring his own, and he stops to take a breath once he bottoms out, pressing his forehead against hers. Her emotions, her need flood his mind, much stronger than before and suddenly he gets it. He’s been keeping himself closed off in the force, scared by what he read about her being vulnerable, not wanting to hurt her without meaning to, but now he realises that what can help this pass quicker is a force user untangling her presence, gathering it all up and back into its proper place from where it’s unraveling. He does just that, gently pushing her thoughts back into her mind, mimicking the movement with shallow thrusts. He finds the place deep inside her, where the poison is spreading lust and need through her body and grabs onto it tight, lets it flood him instead, hips snapping against her at the feeling. It hits him hard, driving him just as wild as she was before, pushing him to speed up, but he knows how to deal with it, releasing the feeling into the force as quickly as it flows out of her. 

He can see her eyes focusing, the smile on her face becoming less drunk and more intent, just as his own mind starts to spiral. She shifts her head then, with her newly recovered control, and presses her lips against his, giving as good as she gets when he deepens the kiss urgently. Her legs wrap around him, hands tangling in his hair, grounding him in reality, helping him hold on to his slipping control. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” she whispers into his ear, kissing his neck between words. “You can let go, I can take it.”

He growls and speeds up even more, biting at her shoulder, making her gasp and start to match his thrusts with her hips. One of her hands slips between them, her knuckles knocking into his tight stomach where she rubs her clit, and the other pulls at his hair so she can look into his eyes again.

“Thank you,” she says, right against his lips, kissing him quickly before pressing their foreheads again so she can feel the exact moment when she comes, every point of contact between them doubling in his mind, sending overwhelming sensations rushing through him, pushing him over the edge right behind her. 

She’s rubbing her hand on his back, where he collapsed on her, and after a while he pulls out, tries to leave, but she just crawls under the covers, lifting them up, a wordless invitation. He slips in next to her, wrapping his body around hers, tangling their legs together, and falls asleep with his face buried in her neck, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin. 

**Author's Note:**

> There is a part two coming, but I have no idea when it'll be finished. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://obimanletkenobi.tumblr.com/) under the same username


End file.
